


Now look at Us.

by Shipper_trash



Series: POV: Because everyone sees True Love bloom [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But they are idiots, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, More Crying, More tags to be added, Pack Feels, Sad, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sterek are less idiotic in their love department, Stiles is few months shy from 18 that's why it's underage, nightmare(s), not so angsty, pack bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipper_trash/pseuds/Shipper_trash
Summary: It isn't until Lydia's message comes in that they leave the bed.But what are they doing? And why? How? When? Basically, this what Sterek got up to behind their packs back.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: POV: Because everyone sees True Love bloom [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945294
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Now look at Us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't until Lydia's message comes in that they leave the bed. 
> 
> But what are they doing? And why? And how? Basically, everything that Sterek got up to behind their packs back.

_“You can do something,”_ Lydia had said. 

And he wishes he could. But he can't. Not with Stiles pushing him away every time he tries to go near him. 

Maybe Stiles hates him. He couldn't save him, he didn't save him. He let him get possessed by that fox and now - and now, he's looking up at the ceiling of his bedroom, trying desperately for sleep to take him, but it won't come. He's trying not to think of how those brown eyes which held so much energy, so much passion, so much life have turned into lifeless orbs. 

It's the middle of the night, but it feels like the end of the world. And he can't take it anymore. 

So he dresses up and walks out the door. 

  
He's seen these walls every night for the past three months. If he focuses enough, he believes he can tell the exact number of bricks used to make it. 

He hasn't had a proper chat with Stiles in forever but apparently just thinking about him has made him think like the teen. He huffs out a laugh at that. 

“Derek?” the voice is so small, and it's coming from the second floor, but Derek can still hear it because he's made himself train to catch even the slightest movement, or even the slightest change from the teen he's so desperately in love with. 

_Only if he'd done this before,_ his mind says. But he pushes the thought back and climbs through the window into Stiles' room, which smells less like the Stiles he fell in love with and more like a corpse has taken his place. But it's still his Stiles. He'll always be, no matter what. 

“I have told you not to come,” Stiles is painfully awake, his head cradled in his hands as he's seated on the middle of the floor, the lights switched off.

To say it's a devastating sight, would be an understatement. 

“I know,” he finally replies. “But I can't. Not anymore.” 

Stiles looks up at him with his bloodshot eyes, which scream of hours of crying. Derek sniffs the air, and yes, the salty taste is there. But it's so low, that Stiles must have cried sometime around the afternoon. But that doesn't mean it's right and that his wolf isn't sad.

“Why now?” Stiles ask, and shit. What does he say? That he'd lost all hope? That he'd given up the fight, given up trying to make Stiles better? That it were Lydia's words that made him want to try again? Wouldn't that imply that Derek loves him less than her? And Stiles, he'd loved Lydia for so _long_ \- and he should. Because it's his choice. And a selfish bastard like him doesn't deserve Stiles. “I have pushed you away for so long, and you've never argued. So why now?” There's no heat to the words, there's no emotion behind them. It's just like Stiles. A shadow, a ghost. Only the bond conveys his emotions: Guilt and despair. But not curious; he's just going through the motions. 

“Because-” He's never cried in front of Stiles. He's cried in front of his pack, he cried tonight for the first time since Laura's death. And now he's going to cry again. And he does, he does cry as his legs give out and he drops in front of Stiles, his eyes downcast. His whole body shakes with the intensity, his inner wolf howls with the warring emotions he feels. Love for Stiles. Guilt for giving up. Proud of Stiles that he'd tried to be normal. Self hate because it wasn't until now he'd tried to stay with Stiles, and more guilt because he'd let that happen to the love of his life. 

_The love of his life._

When he'd first seen Stiles, he'd thought him just a simple human teen, with no bite and all bark. But as the time progressed, Derek realised that it's because of Stiles that they keep winning. He's annoyingly more bark, but his bite lies there too. He's not strong from the outside, but he's the bravest of them all. Lydia used to hide her genius, but Stiles overshadowed his with his nervous energy. And even now, Stiles is supposed to be the one who's weak, who needs to be comforted. But no. _He's_ the one _comforting Derek_ , bringing their bodies against each other and murmuring “It's okay, Sourwolf. It's okay,” 

He can feel Stiles' hand on his back, on his hair, tracing random patterns. Derek should be the one doing this. With that thought, he hauls them both on their feet. “Derek?” Stiles ask. There is a certain satisfaction to find an undertone of concern in his voice. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice a bit muffled as the lower half of his face rests on the braver man's head, on the hair that's rigid with products.“Stiles. Do you _trust_ _me_?” His voice is low, but it's not wavering. It's steady. He hopes it will ground Stiles, even just a tad will do.

Maybe some deity hears him, because he can feel Stiles' whole body relax. And then his honey brown eyes are looking directly in his green ones, whispering, “I trust you, Sourwolf.” 

“Then let me be here for you. Just do what I say, okay?” When Stiles nods, he carefully maneuvers them both to his bed, which reeks more of tears and laundry than of the teen who owns it. 

He's very slow and careful as he presses Stiles' back to his chest, his hands hovering over the teen's above his waist. When Stiles grumbles, “Just do it, dumbass,” with more emotion he's shown all month, Derek cannot say no and only obliges. “Do you need the covers pulled up?” he asks, because even if they don't sleep he wants Stiles to be comfortable. 

“Wolves have body heat, right?” 

“Yeah,” 

“Then no, it's fine. Just - um. You can sleep if you want to, but I won't be able to. I just want you to know that.” The last part is whispered, and Derek appreciates being born a werewolf. 

“Stiles. It is gone, and it won't be back. It won't take you,” he tries to calm him through his bond, but he only receives fear in return. In whatever state of mind he is, Stiles is always rational. So why is he afraid- “ _Stiles_.” His voice is heavy with realisation. He yet again feels more regret, but he pushes that to the back of his mind. “You are unable to sleep because you have nightmares. In which you hurt the ones you love?” 

The scent of salt and sad, afraid Stiles fills the room, and Derek has to breathe through his mouth. “Ye- Yes.” It's now Stiles whose body shakes with every sob that escapes his throat. “I can't-” _hiccup_ “can't sle-” _hiccup_ “sleep. Derek,” _hiccup_ “please don't-” _hiccup_ “ma-make me,”

Derek tightens his hold on Stiles. “Just do as I say, okay? Breathe. In and out, in and out, yes. Just like that.” When Stiles' sobbing subsides to just hiccups, Derek offers his wrist to him. “Focus on my pulse. Match yours with mine, and then close your eyes.” Stiles kicks his legs and hands at that, but Derek shushes him and orders with the same soft voice, “Close your eyes, Stiles. You don't have to sleep, but you have to rest your eyes. And if you fall asleep, I am here. I will wake you up if I feel you having a nightmare. ” 

“Feel? Ho-how?”

“Pack bond,” Derek answered at the same time as Stiles realised with an “ _Oh_.” “Yeah, oh. Close your eyes now, idiot.” Derek says fondly and closes his own eyes. He feels Stiles relax and match his pulse with his own, his fear still there but dampened. 

“You promise? You will wake me?”

“I promise, Stiles.”

He didn't sleep, but after an hour - At exactly 4:39 am, according to the digital clock - he feels Stiles relax more, indicating he's asleep. He had been relaxed the whole time before as well, but the relaxing sensation of sleep is much more. Stiles' scent and bond both tell Derek that he's okay. Not to say he's not afraid, or not depressed, but he's… content. Derek wishes the catalyst here is he himself, but knows it's too much to ask and the reason must be simply him sleeping. 

The next two hours go by just like this; Derek keeps sniffing to know how Stiles is doing, and he's pleased to know that his scent is becoming sweeter with being content. But luck can only be this much; suddenly, his scent and bond both tell Derek that Stiles is afraid, and a moment later he hears the teen's panicked and confused voice whisper his name, “Derek?” The said man doesn't wait and wakes Stiles up by shaking him, who blinks furiously and looks around as if his life depends on it. It might. 

Derek's wolf vision allows him to see Stiles clearly. Stiles is trembling, his legs barely allowing him to stand. He lets Stiles get up from the bed, though he doesn't leave it. After a moment of internal debate, Derek decides on reaching out to Stiles. He doesn't touch him, but offers his hand, his movements slow as to not spook the teen. Stiles looks down at his hand, then back at his face. He thinks sadly how easily Stiles adjusts to the dark; then Stiles is shoving his hand away and instead putting his own on Derek's chest, over his heart. Slowly but surely, his keen hearing tells him that Stiles' heartbeat is now has the same rhythm as his own. “Stiles,” he breathes out, and the said boy sags down on him, putting all his weight on the Alpha. He's more than happy to take care of him. 

They stay like that, not speaking, but in each other's space. When all the scent of fear is gone, Derek tries to offer Stiles peace and calm through the bond. It starts to take effect, if Stiles' maneuver of them both is any indication. They end up like before; Stiles' back pressed against his chest, their hands secured together on Stiles' stomach. But this time, Derek nuzzles into the teen's neck, placing a soft kiss there as well. “You don't have to sleep again. You don't have to feel like you have to tell me what it was. But know that I am here, okay? You're not alone. I am here for you. The pack, your pack is here for you.” 

“Thank you,” 

In response, Derek only nuzzles him again. 

****  
It was 6:07 am when Derek heard the front door open. It must be the Sheriff, he thought. His nose confirmed as much. “Your father's back,” he informed Stiles, who was now facing Derek and playing with his hair. 

Derek doesn't remember when they changed positions; he doesn't know when Stiles' legs tangled with his own, when his hands rested on Stiles' hip like it's normal, or when Stiles' hands started playing with his hair. But it's nice. The sun had started to come up just minutes before; it illuminated Stiles in a ethereal sort of way. His pale skin seemed to glow, the moles and beauty marks looking like stars on his skin. The light hit him in a way that made Stiles look like the sunlight is his aura; he looked like a painting outlined by the sunlight. 

“Oh.” Stiles had that look now, which means he's thinking about something but doesn't like whatever it is he's thinking about. He'd been subjected to this look several times when they were choosing wallpapers for the bedrooms, especially when deciding about Lydia's bedroom (Lydia had very kindly allowed him to do so, as it was for Stiles to have something to distract him.) When he'd finally asked the deep-in-thought teen what he was thinking about, he'd gotten the reply, “I somehow beleive we'd end up dead, no matter what color we choose.” They'd ended up picking pink and an accent white wall. Lydia hadn't killed them, at least. 

“That's your ‘I don't want to think about this but have to’ look.” He said. 

Stiles stopped playing with his hair, making his wolf whine in his head. “Yeah. Um, does this mean you're leaving?” Oh. Stiles wants him to stay. 

“Not if you don't want me to,” 

“I also didn't want you to be here in the first place. And now look at us,” he scoffs, and wow, his eyes sparkle with amusement. How had he never noticed that? Maybe losing something does make it more precious. 

Derek kisses Stiles chastely on his lips, “Oh, don't worry, you're stuck with me now.” He doesn't agonise over what he's done. He starts to, when he watches Stiles be still like he's crashed like those damn computers, but when he smiles and starts playing with his hair again, he doesn't. Especially when Stiles says, in a breathless voice, “I like that,”

The Sheriff comes into the room then, looks at them both in shock for a second, but doesn't say anything. He smiles and just closes the door again. 

  
It isn't until Lydia's message comes in that they leave the bed. Until then, they just remain in each other's space and kiss once, twice, thrice, each kiss becoming longer and longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos appreciated :)  
> Also, feel free to point out mistakes. 
> 
> xoxo


End file.
